One morning last month, I woke up foggy-headed, sleep-deprived, and emotionally worn out before the day had even started. I felt like I was coming down with the flu: achy, heavy, slow. I just wanted to cancel a dentist appointment, but even that became a drawn-out ordeal of waiting for phone lines to open, phoning, queueing, and managing social expectations. And when I finally got through, I was told that I should give more notice next time. That one short sentence landed like a weight. Not because it was rude, but because it reminded me that in this world, even exhaustion must be scheduled politely.
But this wasn’t about a dentist appointment. It never is. This was about everything.
I was tired of being tired.
Not sleepy tired. Not lazy tired. I’m talking about the deep, ambient fatigue of living in a world that constantly asks more of you than you have to give, then punishes you for not delivering. A world where empathy is rationed, where the illusion of stability depends on the silence of those who are struggling, and where rest is treated like an indulgence rather than a human need.
Housing insecurity. Chronic health issues. Endless bureaucracy. The guilt of receiving welfare benefits. The pressure to perform gratitude while navigating systems that barely see you as human. I carry these weights quietly most days, but some days they all speak at once.
And then comes the guilt for even feeling it. The voice that says: “Others have it worse. Be thankful. Don’t complain.” But that voice is part of the problem. It doesn’t come from compassion. It comes from conditioning. From a culture that sees resilience as moral currency and suffering as a contest.
But I am not in competition with anyone. I am simply tired.
I don’t want pity. I want space. I want systems that don’t require people to collapse in order to be heard. I want fewer apologies for being overwhelmed. I want to live in a world that doesn’t confuse survival with success.
So yes, I cancelled a dentist appointment that day. I did it politely. I even felt bad about it.
But what I really want to cancel is the idea that my exhaustion is a personal failing. It isn’t.
It’s my body, my mind, my soul, telling me to recuperate.
And I’m not the only one hearing that message.